17. Izzy
17
IZZY
T he door bursts open, and the atmosphere in the safehouse shifts instantly.
Hawk strides in.
His dark hair, tousled and slightly damp from the rain outside, falls in wild curls around his chiseled face. His jaw is clenched tight, the muscles working as he grinds his teeth. The sleeves of his jacket are rolled up.
My cheeks turn to a bright red like I’m a teenager being caught making out with my boyfriend at the movie theater. I don’t utter a word when Hawk’s gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks.
Tank rises from the bed. “Listen, we just wanted to keep her somewhere safe.”
One of Hawk’s eyebrows pops up, his gaze flicking from Tank to Vance, and then back to me. His nostrils flare, and I know he can smell the sex in the air. His jaw tenses even more, and for a moment, I’m afraid he might explode.
“Safe, huh?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.
“Hawk,” I interject, standing up as well, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m fine. They were just...”
“I can see what they were just doing, Izzy,” he spits out, his voice cold. “Jesus Christ.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair and looks away. “I’m not sure who to be pissed off right now.”
“No one needs to be pissed, I—” Tank starts, but Hawk whirls on him, cutting him off. “I have every goddamn right to be pissed off. All of you—ran off without a word. You better have a fucking real good reason.”
A tense silence settles over the room as Tank and Vance exchange glances.
“I—” my voice cuts out when Hawk holds up a finger.
“Not a word, darling. You’re the reason we’re all standing here.” My lips press together tightly, and I have half a mind to sock this man right in the gut, but I’d know better than to shake a beehive. He’s on edge.
Vance moves closer, his posture relaxed but ready. “We’ve got some new information,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “Izzy found something.”
Hawk’s eyes narrow, his focus sharpening on me. “What’d you find?” His voice softened just a fraction.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “I broke into Reynolds’s office and found files, photos of us. He’s been following us.”
Hawk takes another step forward, his eyes boring into mine. “And you have proof?”
I nod. “There’s a folder. I took everything I could grab.”
For a moment, Hawk just stands there, staring at me.
“You broke into his office?” he repeats. “Into a lead detective's office?”
“Yeah.” Here comes the big confession. “I used to work there. Well, still, I think. I’m not quite sure anymore. Probably not after all this anyway.” I start to mumble, trailing off but luckily Tank interjects.
“I found her in the parking lot. Vance tracked her phone.”.
Hawk drags a hand down his face, sighing heavily. “Jesus Christ, Izzy, you could have been caught or worse.”
“I was careful.”
“I don’t know if you’re brave, stupid or both at this point.”
“So, Reynold’s been following us. That’s nothing new. I’ve been following that bastard for years?—”
“No.” Now, I interrupt him, and he surprisingly shuts up, though I get an eyebrow raise as I continue. “I’m not quite sure, but I think Reynolds has some connection to what the Puppeteer is doing. No one else knows that I’m with you except for him and all those little notes I have been getting feel like some cryptic message. I don’t know.”
Vance puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. “It explains why he’s been so interested in the Hellfire Riders,” he says quietly. “And why the Puppeteer is so interested in our girl.”
Hawk swears under his breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck, this just keeps getting worse.” Then he holds out an empty hand, waving it up and down.
“Show me the folder.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. I grab the file from where it was last set by Vance and place it in Hawk’s palm.
When he took it, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. His expression shifts, the anger giving way to something else—some kindness he has for me.
“Alright,” he says, his voice rough. “Let’s see what you risked everything for.”
We all crowd around him as Hawk flips through the stack of photos and documents. The room falls silent save for the rustling of paper and our breathing.
Each piece of evidence he examines seems to paint a clearer picture, but it’s one none of us want to see.
“Look at this,” Hawk mutters, holding up a photo. It’s a grainy image of me at the compound, taken from a distance. His eyes narrow as he flips it over to reveal scrawled notes on the back. Fourth day of Izzy at the compound. I shiver.
The next photo he studies makes my blood run cold as ice. It’s through the apartment window of their place. Me standing in front of Hawk naked, arms up as I dance. Izzy was brought upstairs to Hawk, it reads.
“Holy shit,” I murmur. “I got a note the next day…about dancing.”
Hawk sighs,“Reynolds has been watching us for months. He’s been building a case against us this whole time. The bastard’s been fucking with us.”
Tank leans in closer, his brow furrowed. “If Reynolds was this close to the compound, I think one the guy’s would’ve at least seen the fucker.”
“Yeah. I don’t think Reynolds was taking the pics, Vance,” Hawk says. I watch him, the intensity of his focus, the way his hands move over the papers with a mix of care and frustration. I can practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together the twisted puzzle that has become our lives.
It’s then that it hits me.
“Wait,” I whisper, grabbing another stack of pictures.
The first image, taken from my first day at the compound, was blurred but grainy. It was definitely taken from far away. But the others, they became clearer. Closer.
“What is it?”
“Whoever was snapping these pics, they used a long lens, okay? But they were still close to us. Too close. There’s no way Reynolds would’ve shown up here. I mean we’re talking a hundred feet.”
“What’s your point?” Vance asks, lingering over my shoulder.
“I think Reynolds has a mole in the Hellfire Riders.”
Hawk doesn’t meet my gaze. “It’s the only explanation,” he says, his voice laced with disbelief. “I had a feeling something was up, and now, I know for fact.” He reaches into the backpack slung over his shoulder and pulls out a camera, its weight solid and familiar in his hands.
“I happened to find this in the basement,” Hawk says, his voice low.
He holds the camera out, and my heart skips a beat. I recognized it immediately. The worn strap, the slight scratch on the lens cover—there’s no mistaking it. It’s Laina’s camera
My breath catches in my throat as I reach for it.
“Where did you find this?” I stammer out.
Hawk’s eyes soften slightly, the anger momentarily giving way to empathy. “In the basement, hidden under some old tarps.”
“Is it yours?” Vance asks. They’re probably all wondering why the hell I’m clutching this camera close to my chest. A thousand thoughts race through my mind.
“Izzy?” Tank calls for me, setting a hand on my shoulder. “What’s special about the camera?”
Immediately, I try to pry open where the memory card would be stored, but there’s nothing there. No photos. No evidence. How the hell did her camera end up here?
“It’s Laina’s,” I whisper. “Whoever had this camera has to know something about where she is or what happened to her.”
The photos from Reynolds desk lay out in front of me, haunting me with the idea whoever has Laina was watching me. They had her camera, and they were using it to spy and collect data for Reynolds.
Reynolds.
How is he even tangled up in any of this?
“Izzy,” Hawk grabs my shoulders. “We’re going to find her, alright? Whatever it takes. But we need to head back to the clubhouse. The longer we stay here, the longer our little mole has to sniff around.”
The roar of our engines is the only sound breaking the silence of the night. I cling to Tank as he maneuvers through the darkened roads, my mind refuses to settle. I've finally gotten my first real clue as to where Laina is and it’s still not enough.
All eyes are on us when we arrive at the clubhouse and the motorcycles come to a crawling stop. They probably want to blame me for everything. I nervously chew on my lips, wishing to be anywhere in the world but here. Tank wraps a protective arm over my shoulder when we get off the bike.
“Keep your chin up, girl.”
As we walk toward the group, conversations hush and all eyes turn to us.
“What’s going on?” one of the guys, Jacks, asks, his brow furrowed with concern.
Hawk keeps walking toward the clubhouse, watching him with a side eye glance.
“I could ask you the same thing. All of you standing out here doing jack shit when we lost a huge portion of our crop.”
“We were waiting.”
“For what?” Hawk asks, opening the door.
“Your return.”
“Well, I’m back.” Hawk growls, stalking into the clubhouse, all of us in tow.
“Well, the guys want to meet with you.”
“Not right now.”
Jax grabs Hawk’s forearm squeezing hard, causing him to stop dead in his tracks.
“God dammit, Hawk. You need to meet with these men. Half of ‘em are about to ride out and start a war with the Dead Demons and the other half want this girl of yours gone.” Jax lets go and takes a step back. “So, if you don't want to have a full on fight on your hands, you best go and speak with them.”
Hawk’s jaw tightens hard as he grits his teeth and looks down at me. He doesn’t have a choice.
“Take Izzy upstairs and make sure to lock the door. I want every one of our members in the garage right the fuck now! Do you understand!?”
“You heard your president. Garage now!” Vance echoes, ushering the guys to the garage.
Tank places a reassuring hand on my back, guiding me toward the stairs.
“Come on, Izzy,” he says softly.
I nod, allowing him to lead me up the narrow staircase.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this,” he mutters when we reach the apartment, pushing the door open and gently ushering me inside. “There’s some grub in the fridge and pantry, beer, whatever you want. You know to make yourself at home here.”
“How long are you going to be gone for?” I ask. No part of me wants to be alone right now.
“It’s hard to say. Hopefully no more than thirty minutes. All this dumb political bull shit.”
“Is Hawk alright?” I ask.
Tank laughs.
“Oh yeah. That bastard is fine. Whoever is our mole though. Well, he’s fucked.”
He gives me a small, reassuring smile, his hand lingering on the door handle. “Everything’ll be fine. Just lock the door.” With a final nod, Tank steps back and closes the door. I snap the lock, clicking it into place.
God. What the hell is going on?
I pace back and forth for a moment. I’m too wired to want to stop and grab something to eat. A beer might be good, but I don’t want anything heavy. All I want to do is get Laina home and safe.
I sink into the couch, turning the television on with a remote. Some old action movie was left on pause. I let it play, serving as background noise, something for me to stare at, listen to in the background as each one of my thoughts continues spinning around itself.
I can’t find the solution.
Reynolds knows about Laina. He has to. He has photos of me that were taken with her camera.
Is she here?
No. One of the guys would know about her after all this time. Too much time has passed. That’s the problem. After 24 hours of missing the chances of Laina still being alive drop by 50%, and we’re well past that.
Is that what I want? To think she’s dead?
There’s no way.
I hear it—the soft scrape of a door. My heart skips a beat.
I freeze, listening intently. The sound comes again, louder this time. Footsteps, stealthy but hurried. I reach for my phone, ready to call Tank, Hawk, or Vance, but the footsteps are already at the door. I barely have time to react before the lock clicks, and the door swings open.
Gunnar stands in the doorway.
“Everything okay?” I whisper, staring at him.
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just me.” he assures, closing the door behind him.
“I thought you were all downstairs.” I say.
He shrugs, his blue eyes darting around the room.
“Vance asked me to see if you needed anything.”
“I’m good.”
He takes a step forward.
“That’s good.”
The room feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker. I take a step back, my eyes never leaving his. “You should probably get back downstairs then.”
Gunnar doesn’t move. Instead, he takes another step closer, his expression hardening. “I think I’ll stay.”
Panic flares inside me. Something’s very wrong. “Gunnar, what’s going on?”
His bottom lips curl and he shrugs nonchalantly.
“Nothing really. Just orders. Doing my job.”
Before I can react, he lunges at me, his hands reaching for my wrists. I twist away, but he’s fast, his grip ironclad. “Let go of me!” I scream, struggling against him.
“Quiet,” he hisses, his grip tightening. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I cry out, my free hand clawing at his face in a desperate attempt to break free.
“Let go of me!” I scream, panic and adrenaline fueling my struggle.
Gunnar slaps my hand away and slams me against the wall, his face inches from mine. “You’re not getting away that easily,” he growls, his breath hot and rancid, reeking of whiskey.
He pins both of my wrists above my head, his body pressed against mine. I can feel his erection through his jeans, and revulsion courses through me.
“God, I wish I had just a bit more time to play with you.”
“Fuck you!”
With a surge of determination, I bring my knee up, aiming for his groin. The impact forces a pained gasp from him, and his grip loosens just enough for me to wriggle free. I dart past him, heading for the door, but he grabs my ankle, yanking me to the floor.
I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me.
“Help!” I try to scream, but I can’t catch my breath.
Gunnar looms over me, his face twisted in anger. Desperation gives me strength, and I kick out, my foot connecting with his shin. He stumbles back.
Scrambling to my feet, I make a dash for the door again.
But Gunnar is relentless.
He catches me around the waist, lifting me off the ground and throwing me back against the wall. Pain explodes through my body. I grit my teeth, trying to knock his head with mine.
“You’re tougher than you look,” Gunnar says, his voice a dangerous purr. “But this ends now.”
I gasp for air, eyes wide with fear and determination. My heart pounds in my chest as Gunnar's hand presses onto my mouth, muffling my cries. His body smells of sweat and leather, of greed and lust.
He presses a white rag with chloroform to my mouth.
My body tries to fight against it, but my limbs refuse to cooperate. As I choke on the chemical-soaked fabric, the world goes blurry, then black. Dimly, I'm aware of my struggles weakening, until my body finally succumbs to the darkness.
My mind is a fog. A mess. My consciousness feels like an eternity away from me, and I am being rocked in some endless sleep.
But I catch the drifting street lamps overhead like far away orbs, barely illuminating the blanket of night. I recognize the cold, night air. The sensation of heavy rain drops stinging my skin and the deafening wind.
I force my eyes open, but everything is blurry. My whole body aches, and I feel like I've been trapped in quicksand.
I’m in the back of a van?
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Gunnar mutters. His dark eyes reflect in the rearview, studying me with a hunger I know too well. Another is beside him with a fat, nasty scar running down his cheek. One of the other members, but I never learned his name I don’t think. Thinking. I can’t do that right now. My head bobs slightly as I fight the sluggishness taking hold of me. “Glad you’re finally awake because we’ve just about arrived.”
A fat cigarette burns between his chapped lips.
The windows of the van are rolled down, whipping my hair around, sending in the rain in.
I’m alive.
That much I know. Barely coherent, but alive and kidnapped by one of the Hellfire Riders.
I feel the van engine slow down, and the gears engage as we turn onto a bumpy dirt road.
“Hey!” I slur, trying desperately to shake the fogginess of whatever; they both laugh at my attempt to speak. My voice is more like a croak than anything else.
“Dumb bitch,” the one in the passenger seat taunts. He turns to take in a long look at me. “You sure Reynolds would know if we took her for a run? See what’s got Hawk and his guys all worked up about.” In the haze, I make out the black devil horns tattooed over each of his eyes. He’s not from the Hellfire Riders. He’s a Dead Demon member.
“Don’t even think about it,” Gunnar hisses.
“Relax, brother. I was just joking,” the Dead Demon retorts.
They both share a look as the van comes to a stop, and the vehicle rocks me forward. My head slams against the hard, metal floor. The side door whips open, and Gunnar grabs my arm roughly, hauling me out onto the wet earth.
“You’re going to behave, right?” he snarls, a menacing glint in his eye.
“Screw you,” I spit. His lip curls into a menacing sneer.
“I really should fuck you up, shouldn’t I? Teach you a lesson.” The Dead Demon laughs beside him, slapping his knee as though this whole situation is all entertainment for him.
“At least let me see those big ol’titties on her,” he whines.
“Reynolds said she was to be saved for him, just like the last bitch.” Gunnar pops out his pistol from his waistband. The metal gleams in the dark light.
I squint against the pouring rain and dim light. Trees tower over us, blocking out most of the moonlight that tries to shine through. My wrists are bound, the rope digging into my skin with each jolt.
We are somewhere in the damned forest. Most likely hours away from the city.
I swallow, trying to ease my racing heart. We seem to be deep in the redwoods, far from any hiking trail or campground. Far from the Hellfire Riders.
“Get movin’ bitch!” Gunnar barks shoving me forward with the barrel of his gun. The cool metal against my side sends chills right through me. My breaths come in ragged gasps, my body aching from the struggle, but I force myself to keep moving.
Each step, parts of my mind come back to me as they swim out of the fog. The effects of the chloroform are wearing away, but I am clueless to how long I was blacked out for. I need to take note of every detail, figure out how I can escape.
I stumble over a root, barely managing to catch myself before I fall. The ground beneath my feet becomes uneven, and I realize we’re nearing the edge of the forest. The sound of crashing waves grows louder, the roar of the ocean filling my ears.
We break through the last line of trees, and I gasp at the sight before me. The forest abruptly ends at a steep cliff, the bluffs dropping sharply to the rocky shore below. The moon casts a pale glow over the turbulent waters, the waves crashing violently against the rocks.
Gunnar doesn’t slow down. He pushes me closer to the edge, his grip unrelenting. I glance over my shoulder, my eyes wide with panic. The drop is sheer and unforgiving, the rocks below sharp and deadly.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand, my voice trembling. “What do you want?”
He ignores my questions, his eyes cold and focused. “Keep moving,” he repeats, shoving me again.
I stumble forward, my heart racing. The ground beneath my feet is loose, small rocks skittering over the edge and disappearing into the darkness below.
We follow a narrow path along the edge of the cliff, the trail winding precariously close to the edge. Finally, we reach a small, hidden entrance in the rock face. Gunnar shoves me toward it, and I see a narrow cave entrance, almost invisible against the rugged cliffside. The air here is damp and cold, the sound of the waves echoing eerily off the rocks.
“Get inside,” Gunnar orders, his voice low and threatening.
I hesitate, glancing back at him. The darkness of the cave looms. No part of me wants to discover what’s waiting on the other side. Some part of me already has an idea. Nausea turns in my stomach.
“I said inside. Now!” he barks, shoving me harder this time.
I stumble forward, tripping over the uneven ground and landing on my hands and knees inside the mouth of the cave.
The air inside is musty, the walls slick with moisture. The sound of the ocean fades slightly, replaced by the soft drip of water from the ceiling.
“Get up,” he hisses, kicking a boot from under me. I gasp as he heaves me upward, back on my wobbly feet and deeper into the cave.